


Fresh Wounds

by Duckyqueen



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Gen, Loss, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Suicide, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-09
Updated: 2012-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 06:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckyqueen/pseuds/Duckyqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How do we deal with death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fresh Wounds

You're all sad about Lieutenant Courtenay's suicide, of course. He had been doing so well. But if only Dr. Clarkson had let him stay on... You don't think you've ever been angrier at someone than you are at this moment. The doctor is question is holed up in his office. He is not seeing anyone.  
And ugly part of you is snarling in your chest. You hope Dr. Clarkson is wallowing in self loathing. You hope that he hates himself right now, because his decision to send Lieutenant Courtenay away has caused a suicide.  
You remember how yesterday, Thomas had so bravely gone up against Dr. Clarkson. You feel anger towards the older man again, because no one at the hospital knew Lieutenant Courtenay better than Thomas. You've already complained to Granny. Complained until the old woman consented to speak to Papa about opening a convalescent home at the house. Complained until she promised she would talk to Dr. Clarkson, reprimand him. You hope his ears don't stop burning.  
And speaking of Thomas, where is he? You wonder if he is alright. He was the one who found the Lieutenant. He had walked calmly into the store room where you had been grabbing gauze and had stated that “Lieutenant Courtenay has slit his throat.” You had dropped the gauze and ran from the storage room. Blood was pooled on the floor, the bed a mess of red. Where had the Lieutenant even gotten a razor blade? You feel sick. There is no note to be found, but you know why he did it. Dr. Clarkson says nothing. And that's when he went into his office. You assume he sent out a telegram to the family.  
But you haven't seen Thomas. You wonder if he is alright. You remember how blank his face had been when he had informed you of the suicide. You wander around the hospital, asking anyone if they had seen the corporal. They haven't.  
You finally find him the store room, crouching against the wall behind an unused cot. He's crying. Sobbing, even. His shoulders shaking and his forehead scrunched up, his mouth turned down. You know you should leave him be, you should leave and not embarrass him, but you can't stop.  
“Thomas?” He seems to curl tight into himself, so that his chin tucks against his sternum.  
“Please, Nurse Crawley,” his voice is so small. “Please, let me alone.” You leave the storage room without another word.  
You wonder that night, lying in bed, if Thomas had been in love with the Lieutenant. The two were close and Thomas spent most of his time with the young man. You're not very well versed in romance. And you aren't even sure that two men can... fall in love. But what you do know is that Thomas has not been himself. His entire posture telegraphs defeat. His shoulders are slumped when he is not standing at attention for Dr. Clarkson. His face blank.  
He goes about his work with machine like precision. He doesn't spend time with patients like he used to (used to do with Edward). He does what is required of him and returns back to the house, without a word.  
Cousin Isobel have convinced Mama and Granny that turning the house into a convalescent home would be a good thing. A marvelous thing. Edith and Mary and Papa are not very pleased that their home will be filled with unfamiliar men, but you are sure they'll get used to it.  
You're not sure what prompts Dr. Clarkson to promote Thomas, but you suppose it might be some kind of apology. Thomas just says “yes, sir.”  
One evening, after you had stolen away to see Branson, you see Thomas sitting on a crate outside the stables, quite alone. He was smoking, staring into nothing. His face was lit by the light falling from the windows upstairs and the red-orange tip of his cigarette. His shoulders were slumped and he winced as the forgotten cigarette finally burned down and burnt his fingers. He cast the butt aside with an angry hiss before burying his head in his hands.  
Suddenly, the kitchen door opens and the silhouette of O'Brien fills the back yard. Sybil watches as the older woman bends down next to Thomas, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and the man leans into her embrace. O'Brien might be saying something to him, but you cannot hear. You leave them alone.  
Thomas has become unreachable to you as an item in a glass case at the museum. He works the home with cold ease. He is a machine. Working with precision. He doesn't speak to patients on his time off. He doesn't make friends with the people there.  
He calls you “Nurse Crawley”. He says 'yes' or 'no' to you. And nothing more, not really. You're sure he'll be alright soon enough.  
Or will anyone be alright?  
You only see him cry once more, and that's after the Lieutenant's parents come to retrieve his personal belongings.  
You say nothing to him. You leave him on his own in the garden. He returns less than an hour later, with the fresh wounds fading from his cheeks. And faces the day with the bravery and detachment of a soldier in the trenches.


End file.
